


Did You See Me Coming

by alex_emsworth



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 09:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6465562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alex_emsworth/pseuds/alex_emsworth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was fifteen and brave, and ready for anything, eager for things to start happening to him the second he steps on the school premises, but what happened to him was Sawamura Daichi, and that was one thing he never planned for – and it didn’t happen at once, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Did You See Me Coming

Falling in love must be easy, Suga had always thought; for him, falling in love seemed a beautiful affair, and being in love itself a state of euphoria, all sugar and sweet and crystal clear. He was raised by Western movies and books and romantic dramas on TV, and he thought he was prepared for it: for his first day of high school, for his first _Let’s go home together_ , for notes in class and having lunch on the roof and for club activities.

He was fifteen and brave, and ready for anything, eager for things to start happening to him the second he steps on the school premises, but what happened to him was Sawamura Daichi, and that was one thing he never planned for – and it didn’t happen at once, either.

Excited about all the highschoolness, his attention all over the place and nowhere in particular, Suga – still Sugawara-kun then – never noticed a certain boy with a short haircut and fairly broad shoulders cheerfully introduce himself, and it still haunts him sometimes, even though there was not that much to notice at that time: the boy could be anyone. He could not probably single him out the first time he heard his voice, or saw him stand up or sit down, his back upright and he himself calm, movements carefully contained, underlined by only the slightest nervousness.

Of course he could not, and he should have, and _how_ could he _not_. All that, everything about that first day, Sugawara would try to later remember and reconstruct and glue together from what pieces and glimpses his mind would serve him. He was no good at it, so he imagined it, and it felt as if his memories were genuine.

When he truly noticed Daichi was when he saw him play volleyball, but that is also not true. That time, it was enough for Daichi to just stand there, adjusting to the gym, eyeing his new teammates, of which Suga was now one. It was also their first proper conversation; “Sugawara Koushi,” said Sugawara Koushi, looking slightly up at the other boy, who smiled and told him his name, too, politely and reassuringly. “We’re in the same class, right?” The boy also said, to Suga’s amusement and shame, for he had only a faint recollection of what his class was like, a motley selection of teenagers who had yet to catch up on each other’s names and faces. 

“Y-yeah, I guess,” he managed to say then, and smile, and if volleyball wasn’t such a demanding game he would have spent the whole practice blaming himself for not being observant enough and for being rude.

Instead, he spent the whole practice concentrating on the game and the coach’s instructions – consciously, at least. What he was doing unconsciously was drift somewhere in the peripheral vision of Sawamura Daichi with the other first-years, trying to understand what was so drawing in about him that Suga could not let himself relax.

It was Daichi’s strength that did it, he would decide later, his strength and determination and purpose flowing through his every action. There was still not much to notice about him, an ordinary teenager in a small town, but being next to him brought peace and motion at the same time. He said he’s seen Karasuno play – Suga never did, but he wished he could change that; he was still to know that it was Daichi’s gift, making people believe in things and making them want to achieve them. As a first-year, Suga only knew that he wanted to be part of it, whatever it was.

It wasn’t love at first sight, as he imagined it to be; he had to learn a lot of things about Daichi before he could say he fell in love. 

They got along well and they were in the same club and class; it was natural for them to become friends, natural for Sugawara to drop half his surname in everyday life, natural to work on hard things together, be it textbooks or the court. It was probably not that natural for him to like it, all of it, the way he did, but his dramas and songs and books told him it was no big deal.

What was a big deal was Daichi being handsome and patient and smart and hardworking. And caring. And funny. Also strong, stronger than Suga himself, in a lot of respects, and all that he came to be fond of and to adore, but it was a long time before he processed that he was hopelessly in love with his best friend: it felt as an extension of him, this feeling of warm safety he had whenever he talked to Daichi or tossed to him or walked home together with him.

He knew something was amiss the first time he felt the smallest pinch of jealousy – of Asahi, of all people. It was so sudden and weird that he had to do a double-take. Because not that he was jealous of Asahi; that would be ridiculous. He was jealous of about anyone who came close to Sawamura Daichi, and that meant a lot of people. Asahi, the good friend, was the least of his concerns, really, and Suga spent a considerable amount of time coming up with a mental list of people he would rather never talked to Daichi ever again. 

On top of it was Michimiya, and it made him feel so bad he did not have the heart to face her for two weeks straight. It was terrible; in his eyes it made him a traitor, and when Daichi, his ever-caring, considerate Daichi asked what was wrong Suga could only tell him that it was all right, he was just worried about the English test next week, which was a crappy lie at best. Everyone knew Suga was good at English, and he never got nervous about tests since he was good at basically everything, and if he was confident in anything at all it was his academic performance. 

Too bad by that time he was also confident he was in love with Daichi, who was as not gay as it was possible and who surely did not buy his crappy excuse either. It did not get him mad but Suga could tell Daichi was irritated with him – he would get like that sometimes when faced with something he couldn’t pinpoint here-and-now.

Suga spent that evening reading romantic stuff, agonizing over how much being a real-life gay teenager was unlike being a two-dimensional black-and-white gay teenager and wishing the world was two-colored, too, so that he would know what’s bad and what’s good, discard the former and embrace the latter.

Because loving someone couldn’t be bad; it was what he believed and it was the reason he used to think it would be all right, to think he would meet just the right guy who would love him for everything he is and not freak out about dating another boy. 

He didn’t think Daichi would freak out, though. No. He would just turn him down and never talk to him again unless it was absolutely necessary, because it was the way Daichi handled things, calmly and with dignity. But there _was_ a chance that he _would_ freak out and get angry and murderous, and Suga could not decide which was worse – except he could, of course; if it were to come to it, he would prefer the angry Daichi to the ignoring one, for an emotion as strong as fury he would be able to deal with, while neglect would devastate him.

He was going to tell him, Suga decided that night, still awake when every living soul in the town was asleep. He would tell him and find out how disgusted Daichi is with him and if he can live with it afterwards.

Next morning he looked at himself in the mirror, and he did not look that great. He was not feeling that good either, and he knew that he was probably – most likely – going to have a running nose before the end of the day.

A running nose was bad. It meant getting ill, which meant skipping school, which meant missing practice, which meant missing a whole day with Daichi. Which also meant that Daichi would get to spend that whole day with Asahi. Or speaking to girls. Or any people at all. Which ultimately meant Suga falling out of pace with him first, and out of his life later.

He shook his head, his hands on the sink. That was obsessing, and he couldn't afford being obsessive; it’s unhealthy and it does nothing good to relationships, even to those that do not exist, so Suga washed his face again, getting ready for school, a few classes to muse on him being a terrible friend and a complete failure as a human being.

He didn’t get ill after all, at least. He did not confess to Daichi either, not that day and not any day of the week that followed, or of the one that came after that. It was not the right time, Suga thought. Then it was too right a time, when they ate lunch together – on the roof, the _roof_ , – and there was a light breeze around them and the sun above, and Daichi bought them drinks and let him have his tofu; Suga could almost hear the guitar ballad played by his heart, and he asked Daichi why he brought the tofu in the first place for he knew Daichi was not that fond of it, and Daichi smiled, briefly, fleetingly, and–

“Daichi, I,” he started saying then, but held back, mesmerized by the vision of them together, for if he closed his eyes and leaned back he could maybe pretend that their life would carry on like this, in this plain perfection, and in that moment he did not even need Daichi to know, it was enough that _he_ knew, and Daichi... would be better off not aware of the fact that his best friend is a creepy pervert who really, really wants to know how his hands would feel on the said friend’s thighs, or running through his hair, or–

“I’m really happy,” he said then, awkwardly breaking the illusion, smiling back at Daichi again, shyly, lost, lost, so lost in everything about him, “that I met you. That we’re friends.”

“Me too,” Daichi shot back, off-pace and with an intonation too questioning, as if he _knew_ , but of course he didn’t, and Suga let the undertones of it brush off him with the shadows cast by the spring sunlight.

He would return to that conversation so many times later, starting that very evening, trying to dissect it, word by word, to chase away his doubts of being found out after all, of saying too much, for Daichi... Daichi changed after it, not to everyone maybe, but it was too evident for Suga to leave it alone – and too carefully concealed for him to pester his friend about it. He chose to let it play itself out, for he was never good at manipulating people, and he did not have the heart to corner Daichi into telling him anything the other wasn’t keen on sharing.

“Suga,” Daichi said to him once, after practice, tired, shoulders down, gloomy, “we need to talk.”

That was it; that was it, he thought, and let his body run on autopilot, numb and unsteady and trying to think of a way to cover his shame up and failing, pathetically.

They waved goodbye to Asahi and the upperclassmen. Left the school, their lack of words dangerous, electrified, steps out of sync, the both of them pretending that it is all so normal, so right. 

Suga held his breath and held his distance. Daichi held on to his bag and offered to grab something to eat in a curt, off-key arrangement of words, and they had to walk a way longer than either of them was fine with, but turning back to go to their usual place would be even worse.

The cloud of gloom still hung about Daichi as they sat down and ordered food, and Suga was so nervous he smiled and looked here and there and here again, watched the icy water melt down to the table in waiting. His mind swayed; his research materials never provided him with aids to handle this, and he was on his own, out in the open.

“Suga,” Daichi said, not looking at him. Or maybe he was looking at him, with those eyes of his, piercing and kind, but Suga could not bear to look up. “Promise me you’ll hear me out. Don’t interrupt. Okay?”

The reality shivered around him. Suga nodded; as if he ever interrupted Daichi's anything. 

“I’ve been watching you a lot lately. You’re doing great... you know, as a setter. I think you’ll soon be a starter.”

“Um. Thank you?” Suga said, forgetting his promise not to interrupt and stealing a very, very brief glance of Daichi in hopes of it helping him figure out what was going on. Did he call him here to compliment his sportsmanship?

Daichi let out a tense bundle of sounds, and Suga returned to tracing the many years of the table’s history in its creaks and patterns. Unfortunately for him, it also meant watching Daichi’s hands go in an out of his line of sight as he gesticulated, slightly, with his fingers mostly.

“I’ve also been thinking a lot.”

“About how good I am?” Suga asked then, faster than he had a chance to hold back, and felt Daichi’s irritation creep on him. 

“Suga, please.” The other boy said, and it was painful; food appeared on the table, and they stared down at it in contemplation. 

“Well, that, too.”

Eating was not a good idea, as Suga found out; it was hot and good and tasty, but he could barely feel it over the ringing in his ears and the clatter of chopsticks and his excitement.

And the sight of Daichi’s hands, for they were right in front of him, as if not part of Daichi himself, a flawless representation of him, broad and sure and steady once, but they were not steady, not then, and Suga’s world trembled with them.

“You know how... you start noticing things, and then everything seems weird and alien until something clicks and it all falls down like dominoes?”

Suga didn’t know. Well, maybe he did, but he sure as hell was not following Daichi on this. He kind of preferred compliments to his setter skills right now, yet he nodded nevertheless, keeping his promise of non-interruption this time.

“It clicked that time on the roof,” Daichi said, softly but eagerly, almost over-the-edge. “I thought, of course I’m happy that I met you. And then I thought, something’s wrong. And then I thought I would be much happier if we spent more time together like that. You know, the two of us.”

Suga looked up at him in such a swift motion his head swayed. Because wait,

_what?_

“What?" He asked, and it came out all wrong.

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen either. But I really like you.”

“As a girl?” Suga tried again, and it turned out even worse, leading to Daichi turning red and acquiring the most bewildered look Suga has ever seen – or imagined – on anyone.

“Ehm, as a guy? But not as a friend? As in, going on dates and all that?”

“So you don’t hate me?”

A third idiotic question in a row; he was on top of his form for sure.

“Why would I hate you?” Daichi asked, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, his _hand_. “Do _you_ hate me?”

Suga breathed out and felt himself turn to wet clay at the sight of it.

“Because, you know,” he started, completely ignoring the second inquiry on Daichi’s part, but gave up, laughing instead, “I want to kiss you so badly right now.”

An old couple to his right _tsk’_ ed at them then – not at them, though, not directly at least, and they both apologized, red and smiling at all the ridiculousness of the situation. It was hot there, and saturated, and weird; they had to leave, and leave quick, back to the streets of their small town, brushing shoulders as if asking for permission and glad that they went such a long way from home.

He let Daichi talk him into helping him with calculus; it was one of the most awkward conversations Suga ever took part in, the one occurring half an hour before that included; laden with explorations of what was and what was not permissible now, of where to take it from there and where to go with it, and it led to Daichi’s room, small and orderly, familiar and reliable.

Daichi did not learn any calculus that night; Suga learned a lot of things.

The first was, Daichi’s hands were dry and hot. The second, _Daichi_ was hot. The third, kissing was a hard thing to master.

The fourth was, his comics underestimated _everything_.


End file.
